Heart Failure

by Richard L Mabry

  TWENTY-FOUR

  ADAM HAD THE OFFICE TO HIMSELF ON SATURDAY MORNING. After he set the coffee brewing, he used his computer to get the phone number for Hermann Hospital in Houston. It turned out that the facility’s official name was Memorial Hermann-Texas Medical Center, but he finally found what he needed. He picked up the phone on his desk, then replaced it and dialed the number on his cell phone. The firm would probably have no problem with a long-distance call, but he didn’t want to leave any record. He couldn’t give a reason for his caution, but he’d learned to trust his instincts. And his instincts always told him to leave as few footprints as possible.

  He started with patient information, then was transferred to the ICU, where he was put on hold for what seemed an interminable length of time as the ward clerk found a nurse who’d talk with him.

  “Who’s this?” she asked in a voice that was a study in neutrality.

  “This is Ad—Sorry. This is Keith Branson. I’m a friend of Mr. Cortland’s. I was talking with him yesterday when the wreck happened.”

  “Which Mr. Cortland would that be?”

  “All I’ve ever called him was Corky. Give me a sec.” He searched his memory. What was Corky’s listing in Martindale-Hubbel? That was it. Edgar A. He relayed this information to the nurse.

  “Are you a colleague?” she said. “A lawyer?”

  “Yes. Corky and I were in law school together.”

  “Then you’re familiar with HIPAA.”

  It was a statement, not a question, and Adam knew what was coming next. He had come up against a wall—a wall called “patient privacy.” Although he knew that the intent of the Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act of 1996, known as HIPAA, was good, he longed for the old days when a friend could find out someone’s condition without the patient having to include his name on a list of those cleared to receive that information.

  The argument didn’t last long, mainly because Adam knew the nurse was acting properly. He thanked her and hung up. But he still wanted to find out about Corky. This meant more work with the computer, and using Switchboard.com he soon determined that E. A. Cortland lived in a rather nice suburb of Houston and had a listed number for his residence.

  Before he dialed, Adam tried to recall something. He was pretty sure Corky hadn’t been married when they were in law school. Had Corky mentioned his wife’s name on the phone? No, he had not. So Adam was calling blind. But he’d done that before.

  The phone was answered on the fourth ring by a man’s soft voice. “Cortland residence.”

  “This is a law school classmate of Corky’s. I understand he was in a bad accident yesterday, and—”

  “Let me stop you. This is his father-in-law, and I guess you’re calling to get the details. Well, the service is day after tomorrow at the—”

  It was like a punch in the gut. The man was still talking as Adam disconnected the call. He laid his phone on the desk and put his head in his hands. He felt sorrow about the loss of a friend as well as guilt at having let that friendship lie dormant for so long. But along with all that, Adam felt despair as he watched his hope of learning the hidden secret about Charlie DeLuca’s family disappear into the coffin with Corky.

  “Is someone in here?”

  A familiar voice interrupted Adam’s thoughts. The office door was locked, so he’d assumed he’d be alone this morning. But it was Mary’s voice that had startled him, and Mary had a key.

  He was trapped. There was no way to avoid an encounter with her. “Back here,” he called.

  “Be right there.”

  In a moment Mary appeared in the doorway, holding two cups. “The coffee pot was still full, so I figured you hadn’t had yours yet. I poured an extra cup for you. Black okay?”

  “Sure. Thanks.” Adam took a sip and put the cup on his desk.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  Apparently Mary had no hesitancy in asking questions. He drank a bit more coffee, hoping the caffeine would keep his brain sharp. “Just finishing a little extra work. What brings you in today?”

  “Actually I was driving by and saw your car here, so I thought I’d stop and see if you were free for lunch.”

  “Uh, that would be nice, but I’ve got to get home to meet a repairman. The cable’s acting funny, and with the weekend coming up, I want to watch the games. I think the Rangers are playing the Yankees on Sunday.” Adam thought he was right. He wasn’t really much of a sports fan, but he was hoping Mary wasn’t either.

  She frowned, almost as though the rebuff was expected, and took in half her coffee with a couple of gulps. “Well, I’d hoped we could do it earlier, but I still have you down for lunch on Tuesday. Right?”

  Adam was tired of putting off what seemed inevitable. “Sure. Let’s set the details when we see each other Monday morning.”

  He addressed himself to the computer, attacking the keys furiously as though writing a document that had to be completed by sundown or the world would end. In actuality he’d opened a blank Word document and was typing gibberish, but she couldn’t see the screen from her vantage point across the desk.

  The ruse must have worked, because Mary took the hint. She put her cup down on a side table near Adam’s door. “I won’t keep you from your work. Have a good weekend.”

  Adam heard the door open, then Mary called, “See you Monday.” The door closed, and in a moment he heard a car drive off. He waited another couple of minutes, then sneaked to the front of the office and peered out the window. The parking lot was empty. Once more he’d avoided giving Mary a chance to probe too deeply into his background. And maybe the identity he’d created would hold up under her questioning anyway, so he had nothing to worry about.

  He hoped so. He had enough worries on his plate as it was. There was no need for another.

  Carrie was halfway through her front door, her arms laden with groceries, when her cell phone rang. She hurried into the kitchen to deposit the sacks on the kitchen table, then pulled her phone from the pocket of her slacks and checked the display. Adam. She could feel the smile spread across her face.

  “What’s up?” she asked.

  “Have you caught up on your sleep after our late night?”

  “Not really. I had to see some patients this morning. But I ran into Rob Cole at the hospital. Adam, I think he’s really Charlie DeLuca’s stepson.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  After she finished describing her encounter, Carrie said, “I don’t think there’s any doubt that he’s the son of Charlie DeLuca’s second wife. And he’s very angry right now—I don’t know if it’s at you, or at his stepfather, or at me for confronting him with it. And I have to wonder why he showed up in Jameson. I mean, coincidences happen, but this is a big one.”

  “Well, I’ve been busy too,” Adam said. “I think we need to get together to share information and plan our next move.”

  Carrie dropped into a kitchen chair and brushed a strand of hair from her forehead. “Do you want to come by again tonight?”

  “No!” The force behind Adam’s retort startled her. “I’m tired of sneaking around in the dark. This is no way to live. I want to bring this thing to a close, and in the meantime, I want us to be able to be out in the daylight. I’m beginning to feel like a vampire.”

  Carrie grinned at the image. “What do you suggest?”

  “It’s Saturday, and I think we should celebrate the weekend. Let’s have a picnic. It’s a beautiful spring day, too pretty to be inside.”

  “Where? How?”

  Adam was picking up steam now. “I know a place. I’ll pick up the supplies, then swing by your house to get you.” There was a pause, apparently for him to check the time. “It’s eleven now. I’ll see you at twelve. Okay?”

  It was closer to twelve thirty when Adam pulled up in front of her house, but Carrie had filled the time with her own preparations. When she saw Adam’s car, she hurried out the front door, locking it behind her, and climbed into his
little SUV.

  “What’s in the bag?” he asked.

  Carrie held up a shoulder bag, about the size of a briefcase. “Stuff we may need. Now let’s see where you’re going to take me.”

  The drive took about half an hour, but it was through lesser highways lined with the spring wildflowers of Texas—bluebonnets, paintbrush, a few early Gaillardias—and they both enjoyed the scenery. Adam kept an eye on the mailboxes along the road, and at one he turned onto a one-lane gravel road lined on both sides by fields of corn. He followed the curved roadway to a small farmhouse, pulled into the yard, and shut off the motor.

  “Here we are. There’s a table on the front porch with a couple of chairs. We can set up our picnic there and enjoy the isolation.”

  Carrie stepped up onto the porch and looked back. The cornfield was better than a privacy fence. There wasn’t a sound around them—no cars, no humans, not even any farm animals. It was the perfect spot for a getaway. “What is this place? Doesn’t someone own it?”

  “A farmer lived here alone after his wife died. Then he passed away. His only child, a son, lives in Kansas City. Our law firm is handling the estate. We’re supposed to sell the property, furnishings and all, and send him the money. Meanwhile, it sits here idle.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out two keys on a metal wire loop. “Water comes from a well. Electricity is still on. There’s no phone, but that’s a plus.”

  Carrie gave a happy sigh. “Let’s stay here forever,” she said.

  “Or at least until we get tired of it.” Adam uncovered the top of a wicker basket he’d carried from the car and spread the cloth on the porch table. “But let’s eat first. I’m starved.”

  Adam unloaded bread, deli meats, cheese, and a couple of soft drinks, the bottles still wet with condensation. From her bag, Carrie added two apples, chips, and napkins. Adam pulled utensils and more napkins from the basket.

  In a moment they sat down to a perfect picnic meal. They looked at each other, and without a word, they joined hands across the table and bowed their heads. “Shall I?” Adam said.

  Carrie surprised herself by saying, “No, let me.” She took his silence for assent, and said, “Dear God, I’ve shut You out of my life too long. All I can say is, I’m sorry. But You already know that. I’m grateful You’ve brought Adam into my life. However this situation ends, we know that You’re in control. We leave it in Your hands, and thank You for bringing us this far. We pray that You will bless the food and our time together. Amen.”

  They ate in silence for a moment, both lost in thought. Finally Adam said, “What about our other suspect? Did you find out why Phil Rushton was at the cemetery last night?”

  “He gave a reasonable explanation for his presence there, and it’s sort of a stretch to find a motive for him, even if he does have Chicago connections.”

  Adam rubbed his chin. “And I don’t think Bruce Hartley’s the guy. He’s got Chicago roots too, but frankly I don’t think Bruce has the guts to do something like this.”

  Carrie leaned back in her chair and pushed her plate away. “So how do we approach Rob? Do you have enough to go to the police? Can your brother help us?”

  Adam shook his head. “Not really. I guess my next move is to confront Rob. Maybe if I make him mad enough, he’ll show me he’s the shooter. And if that happens, I’m ready.” He reached down and patted the gun in its ankle holster.

  “You’re not going to shoot him in cold blood, are you? We’re not even sure he’s the one who’s been trying to kill you. All we have is suspicion.”

  Adam shook his head. “I’m not a murderer, even if I’m backed into a corner. But I’m certainly prepared to protect myself if it comes to that. And if he pulls a weapon . . .”

  Adam didn’t complete the sentence, but Carrie knew what was coming next. He had a gun. She shivered, despite the sunny day.

  Adam didn’t want the day to end. Maybe he could buy the farm and they could live here in peaceful serenity. Get real. Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen. It wasn’t even practical to consider it. But they’d had a great afternoon together, a needed respite, offering them both a chance to recharge their batteries. Now it was time to get back to the real world.

  It was late afternoon when he pulled up to Carrie’s door. “Give me your keys,” he said. “Let me check inside first.”

  He could see her hesitate, her sense of independence doing battle with the reality that danger could lurk around any corner.

  “Pull into the driveway,” she said. “We’ll go in together, and you can look around inside to make sure everything’s okay. After that I promise I won’t open the door for anyone . . . except you, of course.” She punctuated the last sentence with a peck on the cheek. “Thanks for a wonderful day.”

  “What about church tomorrow? Can I pick you up?”

  She seemed to consider it. “Call me later tonight. We’ll talk about it then.”

  He made a thorough inspection of the house, even checking under beds and looking behind clothes in all the closets. When he put his pistol back into its holster, he said, “All clear.”

  “Thanks. And thanks again for a wonderful afternoon.” The kiss she gave him wasn’t on the cheek, and it lasted quite awhile.

  Adam stepped back. “Tell me there’ll be more of those.”

  Carrie smiled. “As many as you want.”

  “Does that mean . . . ?”

  “Not yet,” Carrie said. “Let’s get everything settled first.”

  As Adam drove to his apartment, he realized the potential danger he’d faced today. If his stalker had followed him, he could have wiped out both Adam and Carrie in the isolation of the farm. Maybe there had been a sudden decision on the part of the stalker to stop trying to take Adam’s life. Maybe shooters took the weekend off—or not. Maybe Adam had just been lucky.

  As he neared home, he watched the rearview mirror carefully. He went through the usual maneuvers to check for a tail. And in the parking lot, he chose a different space to leave his car. Once inside he double locked his door. The first thing he did after that was to remove the Ruger from its holster and put it on the kitchen table.

  He’d no sooner put his feet up and turned on a baseball game—the Rangers were indeed playing the Yankees and the score was tied—when his cell phone rang. Caller ID was no help, labeling the call “private.” He shrugged. Might as well answer.

  “Hello?”

  “Adam? Adam Davidson?” It sounded like Bruce Hartley, but the voice was somehow different.

  “Yes.”

  “It’s Bruce.”

  Why was Bruce Hartley calling on Saturday afternoon? Was he about to fire Adam, doing it by phone? Did he want to talk about something at the office? Adam wracked his brain and came up empty. “What’s up?”

  “Sorry to bother you on a weekend. Our firm is the executor for the Caraway estate, and we finally have a buyer for the house. I’m meeting him and the Realtor there in half an hour.” Bruce paused, and Adam heard him take a couple of deep breaths. “Aren’t you a notary?”

  “Yes. You insisted I become one when I went to work for the firm.”

  “Well, I need you to meet us and notarize some documents.” The words seemed to gush out, as though Bruce couldn’t wait to say them. “I know it’s Saturday afternoon, but this is the only time the buyer can do this, and we need to get it wrapped up.”

  Adam searched his memory and came up blank. “I don’t think I know where the Caraway place is.”

  Hartley gave him directions to a house on the outskirts of town. “Can you make it in half an hour? If we don’t get this done, I’m afraid the buyer will change his mind.”

  “I’ll have to go by the office to get my notary stamp first,” Adam said.

  “Just hurry.”

  This was unusual, but if the Caraway property had been vacant for some time, he could understand why Bruce might want to get the buyer’s signature before he changed his mind. It seemed to explain why he was in such a hurry.<
br />
  As Adam drove to the office, he thought about calling Carrie but decided not to disturb her. She’d had a late night, and most likely was taking a nap—which was what he’d like to be doing. He yawned at the thought. Oh well. One of the downsides of the legal profession was getting calls at night or on weekends, although he thought he’d left that behind when he shifted into his new identity as a paralegal. This would be a good story to share with Carrie when he talked with her later that night.

  Carrie browsed in her refrigerator and finally assembled what might pass for an evening meal. She’d much rather be eating with Adam, but they’d settled on a phone call tonight. Besides, she’d be with him at church tomorrow—she’d already decided they would go there together, despite the risk.

  She settled into a comfortable chair in front of the TV, her food on a tray in front of her, and flipped through the channels until she came to an old movie, one she’d seen years ago but wouldn’t mind seeing again.

  When the phone rang, she turned off the TV, expecting it to be Adam. He was a bit early, but that was okay with her. She missed him already.

  “Hello?”

  “Dr. Markham?” It was a man’s voice, unfamiliar to Carrie. And it carried a tone of stress that she couldn’t categorize.

  “Yes, who is this?”

  “Never mind. If you want to see Adam Davidson alive again, come to the old Caraway place right now. Come alone. Don’t make any calls—no police. We mean business.” The words were unaccented, almost mechanical, as though the speaker were reading them.

  “What’s going on? Who is this?”

  “Here are the directions you’ll need. Write them down. If you’re not here in forty-five minutes, Davidson dies.”

  Carrie grabbed a pen and paper and scribbled the directions. “Wait—”

  A click in her ear signaled the end of the call.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  CARRIE WONDERED IF MAYBE THIS WAS ALL A GIGANTIC HOAX, someone wanting money. She’d get to the rendezvous, only to find a note sending her somewhere else, and eventually she’d be told to leave some huge amount in unmarked bills at a desolate location. Maybe someone had learned of the attempts on Adam’s life and decided to use the situation to get some money from her, while Adam dozed at home in front of his TV set.